He Types
by hansolofan
Summary: CLUELESS Josh is alone, but left with many, many thoughts of Cher. So he does what he can only do: he writes. Or rather, he types. R&R please!


This was an idea for a school project I have to analyse Emma and Clueless, yep, so this resulted after late-night random typings and editings and whatnot.

Written with **OrangeSplot, **my team leader! Yay check out some of her stuff alright.

Basically this is set in Clueless the movie, before their confession. Do review, concrit especially appreciated! Yay thanks :D

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My dearest, dearest, most endearing Cher,

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--

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This is utterly ridiculous.

I must concede I'm resorting to tapping away here in the middle at the night, just because I _have_ to get it out, I _have_ to tell someone or something, I _have_ to pour out all my emotions. Or seriously, I think I'll explode.

I shouldn't be feeling like this. It's wrong, completely wrong. I've known her since like, I don't know, ages ago! My mind's not really functioning coherently now, it's like all swirly…all an awful combination of disgusting, pathetic strange feelings…I mean, I'm practically her half-brother! I'm not supposed to fall in love with her!

(There, I've said it. Now kill me please.)

But. Technically, as she loves to remind me, we're actually not really siblings. Not by birth, more like by…accidental matrimony of one absolutely awful mother and a pretty alright father (hers, if it's not obvious already).

But that's not all. I can just imagine what people are gonna say. It's not going to work. I mean, I study law, in a 'respectable college' as Mel likes to call it, I'm captain of the Environmental Crusaders Club (cool name isn't it. She hates it though, somehow makes her think of Buzz Lightyear, isn't that a very interesting perspective) She's really…obsessed with all the Wrong Things, Superficial, Bimbotic, Fake, Gorgeous, Caring, Cute, Adorable, Funny, Crazy, Fantastic, Fresh, Young, Sensible(sometimes), Sarcastic(don't we match well! Or mesh, whatever she would say), Happy-Go-Lucky, Amusing (to laugh at and with), looks like a Doe or a Possum or a Stag or a Chipmunk or –insert absolutely adorable animal here-, Lovely, Absolutely Perfect.

Sorry, I think I got a bit carried away there.

My point is. She's completely different! She's not my type (think Heather, Louisa, Literature and history major, who analyse Shakespeare for fun, in case you don't already know); neither am I hers. (Christian. Grrrrr. 'Nuff said.)

And I am quite sure, quite positive, that she has no feelings for me.

But I need to find out, so I know for sure, I know if to be disappointed or (dare I say it?) hopeful, depressed or elated. But I just…I just can't bring myself to tell her. I don't want us to become all awkward and distant with each other, just because a certain selfish person wants more out of this relationship, more than the other could possibly comprehend.

I really should get a backbone.

But I can just imagine her response. She'd laugh, and I would just fall further, irrevocably in love with her smile. Or she would roll her eyes in an exaggerated fashion, fling up her arms and say, 'Oh, as if!'

Or…she might look stunned, then break into a huge grin, throw her arms around me, a triumphant soundtrack would start playing, and confetti would fly around as the audience applauded while—yeah, you get the picture.

I'm pretty sure which option I like best. But unfortunately, I am a rational person, and thus I'm also quite aware which the most unlikely one is.

But I can't just presume that I have a chance. At this rate, with all her you-know-what qualities (see exhaustive list above; I fear once I get started, I can't stop, and I'll feel that familiar ache again, and it'll be unbearable) I can bet all those lousy immature _boys_ are falling over themselves to just look at her, and she's probably got her eye on the quarterback or something. (or Christian. Grrr.)

She doesn't even look at me as a…you know. _that_ way. I doubt she sees me as a—what're they calling it now? Baldwi or something?

Great. Now I'm even using her lingo, or whatever they call it.

On second thought, that wouldn't be that bad, would it? She'd be able to identify with me more…maybe I could try studying how she speaks, and incorporate it into my daily speech. Seems like a good plan.

Ohh my god she's coming. I can hear her footsteps, light, fleeting, on the staircase and ohgod my heart's pounding so fast and I'm clearing my files from the chair for herwhile feverishly ety;ping this, and waht on eart his she doing here at this time ahhhh and she's skipping ien, in those cute pyjamas and she's smiling sweetly at me, and I'm quite seriously, positively, absolutely lost.

She's saying something, but I'm typing this gazign attt her, and she's similing wickedly, and now she's walkkking over. Darn. DARN!

(Delete doc?)

(Command: enter)(Command: enter)(Command: enter)(Command: enter)

(SYSTEM STALL)

'Uh-oh.'

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(As usual) Tell me what you think! (I'm sure you know how to)


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